Our
pace remained the same boredom-inducing walk as the sun slowly slid
to the east for what seemed an eon, and only when we came upon the
long narrow fields that surrounded a town did I 'wake up' and come to
myself. I looked 'ahead' and to the sides, and the sense of a 'town'
seemed omnipresent.

“This
one is decent-sized, isn't it?” I asked.

“It
looks likely,” said Gabriel. “Do you propose to find those
things here?”

“If
I can,” I said. “I might find some small sheets of tin at the
Mercantile.”

The
town itself drew steadily nearer. The outlying farms began showing,
with wide fields, larger-than-common barns – they looked bigger
than I recalled – narrow 'lanes' to access them, fenced areas in
the rears for 'livestock', and mounded rows of piled rocks to divide
them one from another. For some reason, the fields themselves seemed
a bit larger than those further north.

The
first shop showed to my left, and its small size and obvious 'shop'
aspect named it to be under the kingdom house's influence in some
nebulous fashion. It was not a dwelling, or so I suspected, and when
I passed it, I realized why.

It
had a 'warehouse' of size to its rear, and that portion looked to be
lived-in indeed.

That
proved the only 'shop', however, and as I looked to the right and
left, the aura and sense of 'prosperity' was flagrant. This town
lived on the traffic running north and south as much as it did its
local trade, and it showed in flat and smooth yards,red-painted
pumps, well-kept and sizable watering troughs, and lanterns hanging
'proud' from every roof-beam. The sight of lanterns made for
wondering, even as we came to the yard of the Public House itself.

The
size of this yard, as well as its lack of 'traffic' – three
freighting wagons, a buggy, and two 'saddle' horses – spoke of a
lull in the 'action', at least from my perspective. A faint warning
voice seemed to speak of an utterly different frame of reference, but
this voice, and much else, was drowned out by groans, moans, and one
faint oath.

“What
did you say, Karl?” asked Sepp. I was checking the wheels for
warmth, and I hadn't yet found any that worried me.

“They
used screws on this buggy,” said Karl with an irritated voice, “and
I suspect they made them overly long for the wood. If I wash tonight
and find blood, I will know they are that way.”

“Are
you sore?” I said softly.

“That
and more,” said Karl. “Now how is it you check these wheels?”

“I'd
let him do that, Karl,” said Sepp. “We can water the horses.”

“Thanks,”
I murmured, even as I wondered as to why for a moment. I somehow had
the suspicion this had nothing to do with thinking me to be a
witch.

Checking
the second buggy showed both sides to be but faintly warm, and I
'secured' both tool pouches by hiding them under the seat. I then
paused to look closer at one of the buggies, even as the horses were
'crowding' the watering troughs.

I
recalled the wood of the buggy at home as being 'flimsy-looking' in
its thinness, with most sections being around a half-inch thick.
These seemed but slightly thicker, with clear-looking knot-free wood,
plentiful flush-trimmed dowels, and 'oiled-looking' screws with small
brass washers under them. I felt the top of the seat, and noted a
smooth satin finish with no projections.

“He
ain't used to riding much,” said Gilbertus, “and I can tell you
aren't either.”

“I
know,” I said. “I'm not that sore, at least yet.”

“I
suspect you will be of a morning for a few days,” he said. “All
of us will.”

I
began checking hooves, starting with Jaak's. I noted perceptible
wear on his shoes, with a bright surface ground such that the nails
were but a modest distance sunken down. My hoof-pick was more or
less idle, though a minute later Lukas wished to borrow it.

“Yes,
you may,” I said, as I handed it to him. “Did you find a stone?”

“A
small one, and it's wedged good,” he said. “It looks to have
been there some time.”

“Lame?”
I asked.

“I
caught it soon enough,” he said. “Had we still been on softer
ground, or it had been bigger, or... There, it's out. I'll have to
tell him to look better.”

“Who?”
I asked.

“Karl,”
he said.

“That
horse has been traveling unloaded for nearly half the distance
today,” I said. “Might that explain the lack of lameness?”

“It
would, come to think of it,” he said. I received my hoof-pick back
seconds later.

The
others of the party were busying themselves in one manner or another
as those of us checking the horses finished, and when I came up to
them, I thought I looked peculiar and strange, in fact alien. I was
dressed in knit clothing, and when I came to near the end of the line
heading inside, Gabriel spoke to me.

“Public
Houses work well for food and meetings,” he said. “I wondered
why Hendrik wanted you in front, and now I know.”

“Uh,
why?” I asked. I wanted to touch one of the sizable brass-sheeted
lanterns.

“I
think you look after matters while on the road,” he said, “and
the king earns his wages inside these places.”

“And
everyone else?” I asked.

“We
field questions as they are put to us,” he said, as he turned
toward the front.

The
doors of the place seemed uncomfortably narrow, and as I 'squeezed
in', the brightness of midafternoon vanished abruptly to be replaced
by a well-lit and 'civilized' dimness. The wholesome aroma reminded
me of the Public House at home, and as we came among the tables, the
similarities increased.

The
place was both larger and more crowded than I thought, and 'pie-eyed'
diners were scattered among the tables near the front. Scraps of
low-pitched conversation fluttered around my ears, and when I
sniffed, I noticed the prominent odor of tallow candles. I then saw
the 'holders', and marveled.

Wide
sheet-brass saucers with polished reflectors behind them held
thumb-thick flaring candles, and when I saw another of the tall brass
lanterns on a table, I thought to speak.

“Where
can we get glass pieces like what those lanterns have?” I asked.

“Those,
I do not know,” said Karl, “even if my uncle spoke of lanterns
like that. He said they were common once one went south a ways.”

“The
fifth kingdom house?” I asked.

“Aye,
there especially,” said a voice I had trouble recognizing. “Now
why is it you want lanterns from there?”

“The
glass pieces,” I said. “I've wanted to duplicate student's
lanterns for some time, and glass-paned lanterns are fairly uncommon
where I live.”

“That
would be mostly on account of where they come from,” said Gabriel.
“Many fifth kingdom products are less than good.”

“That
also,” said a voice I recognized as that of Kees. “I'm hungry.”

Not
thirty seconds later, a long and somewhat thin table showed somewhat
right of center, and the 'column' ahead of me began taking places on
stools bordering it. While I usually wanted a wall to my back, and
out of the main 'roar' of a group no matter where it was, my
preferences most likely did not count. Accordingly, I put aside such
thinking, and doffed my pack, which I put between my knees in front
of me.

“I
look like some armed-to-the-teeth thug-cum-frontiersman,” I
thought, “and carrying a rifle like I do doesn't help.”

I
tried to arrange things somewhat better, and gave the matter up as a
bad job about the time a 'waiter' came to 'take orders'. I could
hear soft words speaking of beer, another voice speaking of wine –
with a swift interjection, this latter the word 'unfermented' – and
then more mention of beer. Gabriel spoke before me, and he asked for
beer. I looked up to see an interested waiter.

“He
lives with the best medical people in the area,” said Lukas, “and
talk has it he is.”

That
seemed to suffice for the waiter, and he promptly left.

“How
much further?” I murmured.

“That
depends on when this portion finishes,” said Gabriel. “I suspect
traveling far in the dark, especially this early, is not wise.”

“I
brought a pair of small candle lanterns for night-lights...” I
paused, then squawked, “oh! The, uh, writing.”

“That
especially,” said Hendrik. “Between that, and the other things
you might need to do, I do not envy you.”

“N-need
to do?” I asked. “As in injuries?”

“Those
especially,” said Gabriel. “You've done much of an
apprenticeship for medicine, and both Anna and Hans speak well of
you.”

“But
I cannot c-cut...”

“That
is not commonly done,” said Gabriel. “I believe she told you as
to the limits of medicine as practiced here.”

“That
would be where we live,” said Gilbertus, “and in and around that
fourth kingdom market town. Elsewhere, there are people what name
themselves medical and dress in black-cloth, and they are the purest
thieves and liars to be found, bar none.”

“I
would have trouble stating the case better,” said Gabriel. “Once
the food is ordered, you might be able to check for what you are
after.”

“The
food?” I asked. I could hear the place becoming more crowded.

“We
came during a busy time for the kitchen, unless I miss my guess,”
said Gabriel. “The Public Houses along the High Way tend to
present drink first, as the bulk of their customers tend to desire it
initially. They ask regarding meals once their customers are not as
dried out.”

“Makes
sense to me,” I said, as I looked across the room.

We
seemed to be receiving more attention than was warranted, and I felt
a twinge of unease. I'd heard of – and encountered – enough
witch-operated Public Houses to be leery of such watching, and while
the questions were not forthcoming, I was still expecting them. I
then realized I only really knew one such location, and there,
I was seldom seen alone.

“And
there, you are well-known,” said Gabriel. “This type of
attention is common for strangers.”

“I
was, uh, watching...”

I
paused in mid-sentence, then turned to my left. As I was the last
person at the table, I had a near-unobstructed view of the door. For
some reason, there was trouble beyond it, and I tensed amid the
demure rumble of the Public House's conversation. I strained to hear
what was about to occur, and when the chord erupted, I was nearly
tossed to the floor.

“Twooonggg!”
roared the guitar, and the doors opened wide to admit more people.

“Oh,
no!” moaned Gabriel. “They've come here!”

From
outside, I heard the hideous squall of a badly-blown horn. The sound
recalled the horrid 'Blah-Hee' sound of a brazen-throated witch-horn,
though this was in its own league regarding vileness, and I felt a
gut-rumbling upsurge that wished to spray the area with the remnants
of well-chewed dried meat. The horn-noise, however, did not
persist.

It
was usurped by a deep-pitched sonorous yodeling, and the words were
these:

“Oh
bury me not,

Down
deep in your heart,

For
the swine are coming,

God
help us all...”

Only
the intensely nauseating feeling that the melded words engendered
once blended with horn and guitar made laughter impossible. As it
was, I nearly laughed just the same.

Karl
was sitting next to Gabriel, and his serious expression made for
wondering until he spoke of my reaction:

“Why
do you laugh?” said Karl, in utmost seriousness. “They sing that
song commonly where the pigs have shown much.”

I
could not speak, for speech was impossible given the sonic assault:
“Too-ooo-oon,
ton-ton-twap-twap, twong, t-tw-twoooong! 'The Swine are Coming'!
Blah-Hee! Twang! 'Load the cannons'! Twong,
Thump-Thump-snap-tinkle. Blooooh-hooo! 'The witches are upon us'!”

“Karl,”
I murmured. I wanted to plug my ears. “Listen to that horn, that
guitar, and that wretch that is screaming of fire and sword. God
help us all indeed if we must endure that!”

Karl
paused, turned his head, then returned his attention to me, saying,
“so? What is wrong with it?”

“That
guitar is out of tune with itself, that horn, and that singer,”
said Gabriel. “Can you not hear that?”

Karl
shook his head.

“I
can, and I have heard few things sound worse in my life,” said
Gabriel.

The
horn now subsided, then cut loose with a shrill squalling
'Blaaaaah-Heeeeee' that made my teeth wish to leave my mouth and take
refuge behind one of the stoves in the kitchen. As it was, I was
reaching for them with opened mouth and shut eyes, and as the horn
was overwhelmed by the howled climax of the song – a big grunter in
full charge, the guns firing, round-shots missing the pig, and the
pig screaming like a runaway locomotive in search of a train-wreck –
I shook my head. I was also surprised greatly.

Not
only could I tell what was wrong with the instruments and singer, I
understood precisely what Gabriel was speaking of, and I agreed with
his assessment. Awful wasn't half of their playing, and as they
finished their first 'number' – red flames, a ruined town, mounded
body parts and corpses, and a pig swallowed by the trackless darkness
and heading into the great after-dark unknown – I wondered if I had
changed regarding music.

“I
thought noise-spirits were bad,” I mumbled, as the horn and guitar
combined into an even more horrible instrumental. “Did these
people receive their lessons in hell?”

“I
still have trouble believing that,” said Gabriel, “and I saw it
with my own eyes, and heard it with my own ears.”

A
rattle came from the right, and I turned to see mugs and jugs
showing. A small jug came to the person sitting next to me – Lukas
– then a mug passed it to arrive where I was.

“Unfermented
cider,” said the waiter. “Who wanted that?”

“He
did,” said Karl. “Is that beer dark?”

“That
ran out yesterday,” said the waiter. “The freighters came in
swarms then.”

“And
today?” I asked, as I sipped from the streaky brown and black mug.

“Yesterday
got most of today's crop,” he said.

The
waiter went back to the head of the table, and while I heard orders
being given, I tasted the cider again. A piquant bite seemed to
invade my mouth within seconds, and I carefully sniffed the stuff.

“This
stuff is different, somehow,” I muttered.

Gabriel
took my mug, smelled it, then said, “I'd be sparing of that cider.”

“W-why?”
I asked. “Has the yeast jumped the barrels?”

“No,”
said Gabriel. “They reused a barrel, and not a cider barrel, but a
wine-barrel. This cider has begun to ferment.”

“Ugh,”
I spluttered. “I'll need to use the mess-kit and boil water for
drinking.” I paused, then said, “why did they call it
unfermented, then?”

“It
is far from fully fermented,” said Gabriel, “and I suspect they
would have used fresh barrels if they had them.”

“No,
that isn't it,” said Lukas. “Unfermented cider isn't a common
thing along the High-Way, especially if you are speaking of a busy
Public House that does much traffic with freighters. They might have
had but one barrel for those asking for it.”

“Reusing
a wine-barrel?” I asked.

“A
place like this might well try that,” he said. “They might just
take off the top, clean it good, and douse it with aquavit and set it
alight.”

“Burn
the barrel?” I gasped. “W-won't that...”

“They
burn them but a short time,” said Lukas. “If they burnt them
good, they'd be fit for bad brandy, and that only.”

“Like
they sell in the mining country?” asked Karl. He would be ordering
his food next.

“Aye,
only they name it differently,” said Lukas. “The worst stuff is
called forty-chain.”

“We
do not have that drink here,” said the waiter. “What will you
have?”

I
was completely tongue-tied, and as Gabriel ordered, then Lukas, I
tried to think. I then recalled that such requests on my part tended
to be the simplest things imaginable – and far more commonly, I was
included in someone else's order.

“Yes?”
asked the waiter.

“W-what
they are having,” I gasped. “P-please, n-no High Meats or
squabs.”

“We
do not have those, either,” said the waiter. “It should come
presently.”

I
looked at Gabriel, who rubbed his face and made choking noises.

“What
is your trouble?” asked Karl.

“Those
birds,” gasped Gabriel. “I had heard of them before, and that
many times, but I never really got a good smell of one until I went
to the council chamber that last time.”

“I
normally spew when I smell those things,” I said. “It usually
comes up green.”

“I've
heard of that sickness, and it's bad,” said Gilbertus. “It won't
stand certain foods, and those stinky birds are the worst for it.”

“Can
I go see about my supplies?” I asked.

“I'd
not take too long,” said Gabriel. “That food should come
quickly.”

I
left the Public House after dodging numbers of added diners, then
once outside, I moved steadily toward the Mercantile. The sun was
dropping surprising fast, for it was true midafternoon now, and the
shadows were growing longer by the minute. I produced my slate at
the Mercantile's door, opened it, and walked inside.

The
pleasant sense of familiarity I found in the place put me at ease,
and I went to the rear of the place without stopping. A single clerk
was busy with a customer, and I put both money-pouch and slate on the
varnished countertop so as to better wait. I did not have to wait
long, for a short woman seemed to 'materialize' but seconds later.

“I
might have some of those,” she said. “Let me ask first. May I?”
She indicated my slate.

She
went to the busy clerk, and supplied an interjection that had him
look at my slate, then speak of certain areas while she wrote them
down. She then vanished, and I wondered how long she would be.

The
other customer finished up a minute later, and the second clerk
vanished as well. He returned with a trio of modest tins, and as he
set them down on the countertop, the woman arrived. I then saw their
familial resemblance. I guessed them to be brother and sister.

The
woman brought forth a sheet of tin about a foot square, and I looked
at it. I put it aside under the money pouch, as she left for
something else.

“We
just received some linen waste,” he said. “I have powder and
shot, but no balls. You'll need to go to a gunsmith for those.”

“Ingot-lead?”
I asked.

“I
might have two pounds to sell,” he said.

“Two
pounds, then,” I said, “a pound of shot, and perhaps a pound of
powder.”

“Why
so little shot?” he asked.

“I'd
heard it was scarce,” I said.

“We
don't get much call for it,” he said, “so our bags have sat some,
and it's piled up.”

“Four
pounds?” I asked. “I might be able to bag that much.”

“Five
pounds gets its own bag,” he said.

“Five,
then,”

I
had the whole 'mess' bagged up minutes later, with a gold monster
coin left as payment. The prices seemed a bit high, which did not
surprise me, but I now had most of the supplies I needed. I then
wondered about a 'common-sized' bullet mould, and went back into the
Public House.

My
brief absence had made for further crowding, and the 'troubadours'
were seated over in a corner amid plentiful food and drink. I did
not begrudge them their food, for their eating was near-silent. I
sat down in my place, and sniffed.

“A
few minutes?” I asked.

“That
seems likely,” said Gabriel. “Did you fetch your things?”

“I
did, save for a few,” I said. “Does anyone have a bullet mould
in their things?”

“I
do,” said Sepp. “It seems to work.”

“Is
it the common size?” I asked.

“I
was told it was,” said Sepp. “Why, didn't you bring yours?”

“For
balls in that size, no,” I said. “I brought what my equipment
takes, and a slug-mould for the common size of musket, but not one
for balls in that size.”

“Why
is that?” asked Karl.

“Ball
moulds are much harder to make,” I said. “A special
fixture is needed to make the cherries.”

“I
have yet to see a gun take a ball the size of a cherry,” said Karl.
“Not even a roer can swallow one of those things.”

“The
mould cutter is called a cherry,” I said. “It looks a
little like a reamer or milling cutter, and without one of those
fixtures, round ones are very hard to make.”

Karl
looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language, and dismissed
my statement by drinking from his mug. I tasted mine again, and
nearly spewed.

“I
think you might ask for unfermented wine,” said Gabriel.

“I
would not,” said Kees with surprising vehemence. “I tasted what
they name unfermented wine in this place, and it's beginning to
foam.”

“Why
was he s-so disgusted?” I asked.

“Few
are those who can endure wine while it is working,” said Gabriel.
“Most prefer it one way or the other.”

The
food indeed arrived minutes later, and as the plates were set out, I
noted not merely their contents, but also, the odors. I was
surprised more than a little when mine arrived, for it was nearly
barren.

“Why
is...”

“Public
Houses along the High Way tend to set loaded plates,” said Gabriel,
“and supply the other things in the usual bowls.”

“Other
things?” I asked. “Potatoes? Carrots?

“There's
roast down this way,” said Sepp. “Pass your plate down, and I'll
load it up for you.”

I
did so, and as my plate went down the table back to me, it had
comments in its wake. Chief among those speaking was Hendrik.

“Anna
spoke of you being ill,” he said, “and I do not doubt her, but
this food...” He paused, then as I began eating, he muttered,
“first, you lose most of your hair in that cellar, and now you eat
fit for a monk-house.”

“I
do?” I asked incredulously.

“That,
or like out of an old tale,” he said. “You haven't had time to
read of those, have you?”

“Not
really,” I said. “Besides, I like this food.”

I
could almost hear the comments of 'tasteless' and 'bland', and I
drank a swallow of the vile cider before speaking.

“What
I was able to eat where I came from commonly tasted terrible,” I
said, “and more often, it caused great distress with my insides.
It was rare that I did not feel very sick.” I paused, then
said, “after feeling that sick all the time, I am not
inclined to go looking for illness-inducing foods.”

“Perhaps
you are like a farm animal that way,” said Karl. “I have heard
of cattle eating different food and the farmer finding them stiff and
dead the next day.”

“Then,
there is talk about how you act when you are given beer,” said
Karl.

“That
is more than just talk,” said Gilbertus. “I was there when those
three stinkers had scared him out of a year's growth, and they dosed
him with Lion-Brew in the refectory.”

“Yes,
and what happened?” asked Karl.

“He
needed carrying outside after a cupful,” said Gilbertus. “Anna
said he was sick, and I saw the proof of it then, and I helped
carry him out into their buggy.” A brief pause, then “and I'm
glad those stinkers are gone, too.”

I
wished to hide badly, and only my now-raging appetite prevented my
ducking under the table and crawling off somewhere. But minutes
later, my gut squirmed, and I made a beeline for the back of the
Public House. Here, I was glad for a familiar layout, and after
doing my business – both noisy and smelly – I cleaned up and
returned to the table.

“What
was it?” asked Karl. “Wind?”

“What?”
I squeaked.

“If
you had wind, you should have saved it for lighting the campfire,”
said Karl.

“What?”
I gasped.

“Fritz
was famous for smithing,” said Karl, “and he commonly lit his
fires that way.”

I
went for seconds of the vegetables, and as my plate came back, I
could almost hear the unspoken speech. I began working first on the
potatoes, and when I looked up, I saw Karl grinning.

“Are
you sure you didn't come from the potato country?” asked
Karl.

“I
doubt it,” said Gabriel, “and I would not think to name him a
rodent.”

“Uh,
why?” I asked.

“Potato
farming involves a great deal of digging,” said Gabriel, “and
hence, that term is a common one in those parts.”

“Rodent?”
I asked. “Do those dig?”

“Have
you not seen burrowing rodents?” asked Karl. “They're
common enough.”

“You'd
best hope one does not take a fancy to your leg, then,” said Kees,
“as if your leg is broken, he will be working on it.”

“I
have helped with a broken leg,” I said, “but the cause was
a bull.” I paused, ate more carrots, then said, “what do these
rodents look like?”

“Most
are less than a foot tall,” said Gabriel, “and their usual color
is gray. Beyond that, I would have trouble describing them, as they
are seldom seen by people who do not farm.”

“I
have seen them many times,” said Karl.

“How
much farming have you done?” asked Gabriel.

“With
my family,” said Karl. “We have the usual amount.”

“Then
you have done enough farming to see them,” he said. “The last
time I did farming chores was when I was a young boy, and since, I
have only seen a few of those rodents.”

“I
have this, uh, book,” I said, “and it was called a Bestiary.
Would it have those animals?”

“If
it is a Hoelm's, then it will,” said Gabriel. “If you wish to
understand the written format as taught at the higher schools, I
would suggest that book for starting. It's commonly used that way,
in fact.”

“What?”
gasped Kees. “He does not... How?”

“He
more than makes up for it in other ways, and that is for writing,”
said Hendrik. “More, I suspect he does understand it if he reads
it, even if he has difficulty writing that way.” A brief pause,
then “I suspect you'll learn of his talents that way soon enough
with that report.”

“Does
he do those?” asked Kees.

“He
does, and expertly,” said Hendrik. “More, his writing is clear,
exact, and to the point, unlike much of what comes from those going
to the higher schools.”

“Then
where did he go?” asked Kees. “The west school?”

“Somehow,
I doubt it,” said Hendrik. “Wherever this place was, I suspect
it to be well beyond anything on this continent.”

“How
is it you know?” asked Kees.

“First,
his writing,” said Hendrik. “One often needs the use of a
word-book to follow it. Then, there is what he does at that shop.”

“They
do for a start,” said Hendrik. “There were three of them in my
year, and all of them were on the lists the whole time – and I
never saw more serious students than those three. Not even Boermaas
students work that hard.”

Hendrik
paused, then said, “and then, after they'd finished at those
schools, they did their apprenticeships.”

“Seven
years?” I asked.

“At
the least,” said Hendrik. “Unlike most trades, instrument-making
has no fixed time interval, and one is ready when, and if, one
is ready. The rule is ten years, save in certain cases, and all of
that time is filled with labor.”

“Certain
cases?” I asked.

“They're
marked,” said Hendrik. “At least one of those three was that
way, he apprenticed at the Heinrich works, and he's still there, the
last I'd heard.”

“Is
that apprenticeship purely practical?” I asked.

“It
involves much more than the usual kind,” said Hendrik. “I've
heard it involves some truly unusual mathematics, as well as many
other things that are seldom taught, and that on top of what most
people think is involved.”

“Unusual
mathematics?” I asked. “What kind?”

“I
suspect you know,” said Hendrik. “Talk has it you showed some of
them to the people you work with.”

“I
did,” I said. “I have trouble doing those, also.”

“Now
what do you have trouble with?” asked a woman's voice.

I
looked to my left and suddenly knew what she needed. Without
hesitation, I removed my money pouch, then found first a large silver
piece, then a second one. I put them on the table, put away the
pouch, and then pressed the coins into her hand.

“What
is this for?” she asked.

“They
need shoes,” I said, “and it is hard to afford shoes and food.”

The
woman took the coins, and as she pocketed them, she began weeping.
Gabriel looked at her, then fetched out two more such coins and
placed them in her apron. As he did so, he said, “clothing isn't
cheap, dear, especially when you have two gnippers running around in
the mud like they do.”

The
woman was completely undone, so much so that I surreptitiously
removed my money-pouch again and dug out a trio of gold monster
coins, then dumped the heavy brutes into her apron. I heard steps
coming from my right. I turned to see a worried-looking publican
with flour-dusted hands.

“Gertje,
what is wrong?” he asked.

“I
asked,” she said in a tear-stained whisper, “and I was given more
than I thought possible. I had hoped for shoes, and now I have
enough for those and clothing for the boys.”

I
paused, for there was more. She spoke again amid her sobs.

“The
swine were bad that year,” she said, “and most of the men died in
Brootjigen when the pigs came.”

I
was now truly tongue-tied.

“That
is why we are traveling,” said Gabriel as he looked around the room
aimlessly. “They are due to come soon, and in large numbers, and
the whole country needs to be raised before they come.” He paused,
then said, “and unlike in the past, we shall be ready for them when
they show.”

Gabriel
then looked at Hendrik, who stood and began speaking. Within
seconds, not only did he have the rapt attention of everyone in the
Public House save myself, but I found myself fighting an intense
desire to hide. I huddled down and tried to finish the remnants of
carrots and potatoes on my plate as he spoke, then after clearing the
thing, I put a pair of larger silver pieces on the table. As I did,
I overheard portions of his spiel, and with each further period of
exposition, I found myself further terrorized.

“They
are betting the farm next year,” he said, “and when they come, it
will not be half-measures they will be holding. They will desire our
destruction, or die trying to make it happen...”

I
seemed to faint, and awoke seconds later, this time hearing “if
they win, we are done, and if we win, they are done. It behooves us
to win if we can, for then we shall be free of them for ever.”

While
this speech continued for but a few minutes more, I heard references
to the third ditch which made me cringe and squirm, blood-flags that
made for vague filmy-looking flashbacks where the two-headed ravens
had one-word rune-spoken arguments with themselves, drunken tinned
thugs labeled profligately as 'Spam', and enough 'big grunters' and
gunfire to make me long for overblown witch-horns, bad guitars, and
worse singers.

We
left but moments later, with a small mound of silver going back to
the rear 'bar' carried by the two nearest that end of the table, and
in my case, leading off toward the door. The bedlam of pie-eyed
diners was such that I marveled until I came to the door, which I
opened as if afraid of the prospective darkness. I was glad to still
see an hour or more of sunlight left, and gladder yet when outside.

As
Lukas filled the oil reservoirs of the buggies, I dug out both of the
smaller lanterns I had packed, and I sent both of them in to be lit
once I'd stoked them with wax candles. I had the buggy-hangers
partly out when Sepp returned with the lit candles glimmering.

“What
gives with those?” he asked.

“Firstly,
we have ready lights of a sort,” I said, as I fluffed out Jaak's
blanket, “and then, we need not concern ourselves with starting
huge fires just to see by once we camp.”

“How
is that?” asked Karl, as he untied his horse, and Kees made ready
to take the buggy in question.

“Uh,
I still send sparks in 'the general direction', even with a lot of
practice,” I said. “I try to use candles for the forges at work
if I can.”

Once
underway, however, Gabriel had a question for me.

“I
have wondered for some time as to what was meant by spam,”
he said, “and I now have an idea.”

“Yes?”
I asked. I was looking ahead, and we were still in the town. It was
larger than I thought. “It was one of those illness-inducing foods
I spoke of.”

“How
was it that way?” asked Gabriel.

“It
had a great deal of fat in it,” I said, “and otherwise – I
think – it was commonly made from swine. I am not certain
as to its precise ingredients, but that was listed as being one of
them.”

“That
sounds like an accursed food,” said Gabriel. “The Grim
Collection speaks of the foods of witchdom, and swine are high on
their list.” He paused, then said, “was it labeled with
witch-writing?”

“It
used commonplace writing for its labels,” I said, “that, and a
fairly misleading picture as to what the stuff looked like.”

“How
was it misleading?” asked Gabriel.

“The
picture looked far more edible than the uncooked product itself,” I
said. “Then, it was marked as being inspected, and as to what was
in it.” I paused, then said, “it was canned, so it kept well
under less-than-ideal conditions, which was one of the reasons I
bought the stuff before I had trouble with my insides. Later, there
was another version which was made with fowls.”

“Did
that cause trouble?” asked Gabriel.

“It
eventually got to the point where everything other than flavored
water mingled with that place's version of sugar-tree sap caused
trouble some of the time,” I said. “I still bought it now and
then, as I could eat it occasionally and the containers it came in
were especially useful.”

I
looked ahead through the wide swathes of fields on each side of the
road to the woodlots in the distance, and murmured, “I have had
quolls here, and I had no trouble with them.”

“Those
were wild quolls, and not penned ones,” said Gabriel. “Penned
quolls are common to the south.”

“P-penned
quolls?” I asked. “What are those?”

“Nearly
as bad as squabs,” said Gabriel, “as they are commonly fed table
scraps, and the same for chickens.”

“Broiled
on a spit, or cooked like dried goat?” I asked.

Gabriel
seemed to not hear me, for he spoke of something I had trouble
recognizing.

“There
are special heavy copper or bronze pots with tight lids,” he said,
“and they seal up tight with leather gaskets. The food goes on a
close-woven screen, with water below it, and it is cooked over a slow
fire.” He paused, then said, “camp cooking, when done right, is
very good. Done wrong, it is abominable. When I assayed it...”

Gabriel
paused again. He seemed to be relishing his tale, for his voice had
changed so as to create an atmosphere of dread and suspense. I could
easily see and hear him narrating the works of Poe.

“It
was much worse yet.”

“How?”
I asked.

“It
caused severe cramping and tremendous bursts of wind,” he said.

The
sun was dropping steadily, such that the left portion of the current
woodlot put our party in deep shadow, and the cheerfulness of the two
candles seemed to be helpful to those behind their respective
buggies. I could feel that aspect behind, and the camping place
ahead, and I thought to look up into the sky overhead. There, I was
surprised to see the moon, and its peculiar aspect made for
wondering.

It
was more than perceptible as to its oval shape, and when I looked
down, the dimness was blanketed with feeble moonlight that sent
shadows down from the overhanging branches above our heads.

“How
far is that camping place?” I asked in silent questioning. “We've
easily got an hour or two's work after we set up.”

While
there was no answer to my questioning, I again felt the place but a
handful of miles away, and as if I were there, I could see its
layout: a wide 'cut-out' portion to the left amid a woodlot, deep
soft green grass, a pump and water-trough, and more, a current lack
of use. That last portion, I suspected, was crucial, and I again
looked up and overhead.

“Th-that
thing's stretching,” I gasped. “What is it?”

“That
would be the moon,” said Gabriel. “Why, have you never seen it?”

“I
never looked at it closely before,” I said. “What, are there two
of those things?”

“No
one says there are two,” said Gabriel, “but I once watched
it through a glass. It splits into two and reforms within a slow
count of ten.”

“There
are two moons,” I muttered, as I brought down my head to
stare into the slow-gathering darkness to our front. “I hope it
will be bright enough to set the tents.”

“Is
that why you put those candles on these?” asked Sepp. His voice
seemed directly behind me. “They really help a lot when it's dark
like this.”

“Uh,
we have brighter lanterns,” I said. “Those will help us get them
lit easier, though.”

“I
thought so,” said Sepp. “I hope my watch is an early one.”

“I'd
get a nap, then,” I said. “I can tell at least three of us will
be up for a while after we camp.”

I
again glanced upward, and let out an involuntary cry, for here, I saw
the moon actually split into two distinct parts and join itself back
together but seconds later. I had never seen anything like it, and
when I brought my head down to see the road ahead, it was almost as
if I could see our camping spot shining out in the darkness ahead of
us.

“It
isn't much further,” I said. “Perhaps another twenty minutes, if
that.”

My
statement, though it seemed optimistic to me – I wasn't that
certain of the distance – proved pessimistic to a fault, for not
three minutes later, the woodlot in question showed. A minute's
further travel showed the 'bay' I had seen, and I slid down off of
Jaak to walk onto the deep green grass. The ground seemed firm
enough, and as the others slowly rode in, I said softly, “drive
onto my tracks, please.”

“Will
you set up a laager?” asked Sepp.

“Perhaps,”
I said, as I found 'the' spot. “What is a laager?”

“That
is where you have buggies or wagons tongue to rear in a circle,”
said Sepp.

“No
freighters bother,” said Lukas. “One of 'em walks out where the
dirt's soft, so the wagons don't get mired, they form up so's they
can get out easy, and then they set down.” A pause, then, “you
never did that before, did you?”

“Uh,
no,” I said. “I've heard of buggies getting mired in soft ground
enough to try to find places where that won't happen.”

After
arranging both buggies in something like a semicircle, I wanted to
sit down. I felt I could not, however, for all seemed to depend upon
me – or so I thought until the tents began going up.

“What?”
I asked. “How do those..?”

“Karl
and I practiced yesterday,” said Sepp. “I'd find a good spot for
a privy, as I know how you can see in the dark.”

“A
spade?” I asked.

I
was promptly handed one, and I went toward the nearest edge of the
trees. There, I began digging a small hole after removing the sod
and laying it to the side, and once I'd done so, I tried it out. I
felt better afterward, and I turned to see three lanterns shedding
light on one nearly-erected tent and another going up next to it.

“They
must have really practiced,” I muttered, as I headed back
towards the campsite. “I had nothing but trouble with those things
when I tried them in the past.”

I
wondered what next to do with the spade, even as I came back to the
campsite, until Lukas took the spade and began digging a modest hole
but ten or twelve feet from the tents.

“You
might dig out your cooking things,” he said. “We might not want
food, but warm water would help with the travel-itch.”

I
did so, and within a few minutes I'd set up the heating lamp under
the larger pot. I then called for help with the tub.

“Where
are you?” asked Gabriel.

“The
rear of the first buggy,” I said. “I'm unloading my tub.”

I
soon had help setting up the tub on the backside of the tents, and by
that time, I had boiling water. I fetched my clothing, poured the
hot stuff into the tub, fetched another potful, dumped it, and set a
third potful on to boil. I then called out softly, “who bathes
first?”

“I'd
get your bath, if you're ready,” said Hendrik. “I'm almost ready
with some of these notes.”

I
bathed hurriedly, then bagged my dirty clothing and retreated to the
buggy with my dirty clothes. I could hear more boiling water, then
from my right and near the pot, I heard a soft muttered oath.

“Now
what do I do with this firewood?” muttered Gilbertus. “This
little glowing thing's boiling water just like a stove.”

“Uh,
bail out the water from the tub...”

“Done,”
he said. “I'm glad I brought that other pot.”

“The
bath-dipper will work for bailing,” I said. “I wasn't sure if
someone wanted to...”

I
heard a splashing sound, then a soft moan of comfort.

“What?”
I gasped.

“Someone
drew warm bath-water,” said Gabriel, “and it really helps.”

“Wonderful,”
I thought, as I went to the nearest tent and looked inside. Hendrik
wasn't in there.

He
proved to be in the other tent, and over the next half-hour, the camp
settled down. The heating lamp was put in front of the paired tents,
where it steadily simmered under a pot of water. The sounds of
bathing came steadily from behind the tents, while soft speech and
softer footsteps spoke of activities pertaining to camping. A
glimmering light outside to my left spoke of a flaming campfire.

Meanwhile,
I went over the notes presented to me, with Gabriel making
'corrections'. Hendrik bathed, then Kees, and the whole time under
the lanterns, I was being plied with notes amid yawns. Someone
shortly brought in a jug, and set it by me.

“What's
this?” I asked.

“I
think that is cider,” said Gabriel.

“Maria
spoke of at least two jugs of it,” said Hendrik, “and that looks
to be one of them. I knew about the scarcity of unused barrels in
the south of the first kingdom.”

I
filled my mug, and drank deeply.

“Here,”
I said, pointing to the notes I was holding. “I might want to read
this at length.”

“What
is it?” asked Gabriel.

“I
never saw a 'real' history of weapons before,” I said. “Those
lectures...”

“Are
not worth their time or effort in that way,” said Kees. “Besides,
he isn't that fond of reading.”

“He
spoke of those tales,” I said.

“There
are digests of those tales in some of the book-rooms,” said Kees.
“The Grim Collection isn't particularly small.”

“Nor
is it quickly read,” said Hendrik. “Those digests can be quite
helpful.”

I
went through the pages of notes hurriedly, paragraph by paragraph,
such that each of the three men scattered eraser-crumbs steadily
between bouts of writing. I wondered for a moment if the
documentation needed inking.

“If
time and facilities permit, then yes,” said Hendrik. “The second
kingdom house might take us two, or perhaps three more days, and
we'll need these usable by then.”

“I
hope I'm able to do my portion,” I said.

“The
way you do this?” spluttered Kees. “I can tell you're not
wasting time.”

“Uh,
I'm trying to do three at once,” I said, “that, and some of this
language is really convoluted. It may well take more than one
pass to get it right.”

“I
never saw anyone do a report that quickly, just the same,” said
Gabriel. “You took perhaps twenty minutes to do almost a third of
what he needs.”

“Enough
to get him started,” I said. “Now this part is touchy.”

“I
know,” said Gabriel. “It is not easy to write about the
activities of those people at Norden.”

“While
trying to use the formal form of the indefinite article every
sentence one can?” I squeaked. “Gabriel, where did you get
such language? Can you not simply describe what that witch looks
like, and how nasty she is?”

Gabriel
shook his head, then said, “then again, I did not see that witch,
so I had to use what you said.”

“Did
I say that?” I asked. “Here, let me phrase this.”

I
then gave a description of Ultima Thule, including her goals, her
'attitude' – vindictive, enraged, cunning, spiteful, and impatient
– and then a paragraph-length description of the interior of one of
Norden's ice-halls. Gabriel had needed a page and a half to do what
took me a third of a page, and when I passed it off to him to let him
write and took up Hendrik's document, I heard the latter mumble.

“I
might be able to write in a less-formal fashion,” he muttered, “but
I cannot come close to what you just did.”

“And
most others?” I asked. “If they write, there are twenty
instances of 'Ye' to the page?”

“Most
of the higher schools demand such writing,” said Kees. “I could
write when I started, though not very well, but after two years at
Ginnedaag, I could only write one way, and that is still the case.”

“And
strange usage of nouns, verbs, and adjectives?” I murmured.
“Writing as if the desire was to confuse the issue, such that those
not 'well-educated' cannot understand it, those that think
themselves to know it read a pack of fine-sounding lies, and the true
import of the document is known only to a small and select group?”

“I
would not be surprised if you are...” Hendrik cut himself off in
mid-sentence and slapped his cheek. He then screeched the single
word “what?”

“This
writing almost reminds me of a cipher of sorts,” I said, “where
this word 'sore', for instance, has one meaning to most...”

“I
am learning about that meaning of sore, thank you,” said
Gabriel.

“And
then, another 'archaic' meaning to you all, one that took a long
time to decipher...”

“Go
on,” said Hendrik. “You're answering a question I could never
get a straight answer to.”

“And
then, to this select, uh, group, it has a third meaning, almost as if
it was a code-word that only that group knows the meaning of.” I
paused, then said, “almost as if the people in question wanted to
write in this nasty-sounding speech I've heard of and didn't have the
confidence to do so openly.”

“Nasty-sounding
speech?” asked Kees.

“I've
heard it spoken a few times,” I said. “All of the speakers were
domestic witches.” I paused, then said, “those, uh, secret
markings on second kingdom house documents and a really bad
form of the written format?”

“Were
this of less importance,” said Hendrik, “I would need to send
everything to a clearing house for such 'grooming', and at
substantial cost.”

“Which
makes it a complete waste of time,” I said. “People that
demand that incomprehensible rubbish will only see what they wish to
see, and that subterfuge you called a clearing house is used to
extort money from supplicants desiring the favor of their masters.”
A brief pause, then as I resumed 'translating', I mumbled long and
slow the single phrase “ugh!”

I
worked for what seemed an age grinding through tedium expressed on
paper, and with each further bout of exposition, I marveled at both
the progress made and also the 'density' of expression. Much of the
verbiage used seemed intended to conjure an imposing 'style', as if
that conveyed the true importance of the document, and the
smokescreen engendered by misused words and 'archaic-sounding'
language but added to the high and lofty sentiment.

“This
stuff almost seems to scream for preeminence,” I muttered. “It's
as if it's an entry chit to the realms of power, where the truly
important stuff is discussed verbally and in private over bad
meals and worse drink.”

“I've
suspected that to be the case among Generals and people like them,”
said Hendrik.

“The
second kingdom house?” I asked.

“I
would watch for those people there,” said Kees. “Now look at
this portion.”

I
did so, and reduced his latest attempt further. He was making
progress.

“I
would almost resign myself to the position of scribe,” said Gabriel
when he looked at what I was reworking. “If you can only write as
per the demands of the higher schools, you but make more work for
him.”

“I
guess so,” said Kees. “I'm hopeless at this part of a report if
it has to say something worthwhile.”

“Your
notes are decent,” I said. “I can fill them in somewhat from
what I've seen.”

Outside
of the tent, the others sat or lay around what was now a glowing
campfire, and I could hear someone telling an obvious 'yarn' of some
kind. I begged off for a moment, went to my cook-gear, put up the
pot, stand, and lamp, and fetched the dutch oven. I brought it back
to where the others were, and laid it on the grass.

“Now
what is that?” asked Gilbertus.

“A
small, uh, camp oven,” I said. “If you have some cooking oil, it
needs wiping all over and then setting near those coals.”

Lukas
reached in his pack, and brought out a medicine vial, then began
wiping the pot and its lid down. A minute later, he used a stick to
arrange three rocks at the edge of the fire, then deftly set the pot
on them.

“Now
it'll cure proper,” he said. “They make those things down in the
fourth kingdom market, and they work good for camp-bread.”

“They
do?” I asked. There was a note of surprise and incredulity in my
voice.

“That,
and they're a better substitute for making Cuew over an open fire,”
he said. “That one's about the smallest such pot I've seen.”

“There
are larger ones?” I asked.

“Aye,
about twice that big for tall and wide,” said Lukas. “Those
things like that are heavy, though, so packing them horseback needs a
horse just for the pot.”

“A
good horse,” said Gilbertus, as I headed back into the
'study-tent'.

The
writing continued for roughly another hour, and then, I thought to
look to my bed. The tub was upended for draining fully next to the
buggy, and when I found my 'bedroll', I was astonished to find not
merely the waxed ground-cloth, but also a thin and somewhat gauzy
cover-sheet. This last smelled especially good, and after laying out
my things ready to hand under the buggy, with boots off and socks
inside them, I drank a small cup of beer and fell asleep.

I
awoke with a start to complete darkness. Fog was about in the land,
and I touched the surface of the buggy to reassure myself that I was
not in a coffin. I felt under the cover of the blanket, and touched
my sword, then gently thrust the cover-sheet and blanket aside. I
could feel something amiss, and it was coming slowly from the north.

I
crawled out from underneath the buggy, and as I knelt to withdraw my
sword, I noted a definite dampness in the air that muffled sound. I
turned toward the tents, and saw them darkened; the 'campfire' slowly
smoldered, with a faint aroma of wood-smoke; the smaller
candle-lanterns were either out or missing; and I could faintly smell
the aroma of fermented wine.

“F-fermented
kerosene,” I muttered. “At least it is not Amontillado.”

I
sheathed my sword in silence, and then stood up. I felt my possible
bag, then beneath it, my holstered revolver. My thinking was to
awaken someone who could then alert the others, and I went toward the
'other' tent.

Within
lay four sleepers, and when I looked at the next tent, I was
surprised to find not merely three men asleep, but both small
lanterns faintly glowing. The odor of wine was profound, and my
thoughts were of 'book-dust' as I returned to the other tent.

“Now
whose toes are these?” I wondered, as I slipped into the center of
the second tent. “No bug-fly, no cover sheets, no... Is this
Sepp?”

I
gently touched the face which showed the beginnings of a mustache,
and tapped the person's chin. It took several seconds for the person
in question to awake, and I put my finger across his mouth when he
awoke.

“Please,
wake another person,” I whispered. “We have trouble to the
north.”

“Trouble?”
whispered Sepp.

“It
isn't very serious, at least yet,” I said. “I should manage, but
I might want some help – oh, and whose watch was it?”

“Kees',
I think,” said Sepp. “He was still up working after everyone
else had done theirs.”

“That
campfire?” I asked.

“I
was asleep then, and I took the first watch,” said Sepp. “I'll
wake Karl.”

“G-good,”
I said, as I turned and left.

I
moved at a rapid walk to the north and west portion of the clearing,
and from then, I went along the side of the road at the edge of the
woodlot. As I did, I could feel something about what was coming.

“Now
what are these farmers doing out hunting this early in the morning?”
I thought.

As
I closed with the two men, I sensed their substantial clothing –
they were wearing enough of it to muffle much of their noise –
their ordnance and its disposition, and more, their possible goals.

“I
doubt they are h-hunting,” I thought. “Do they have snipe
here?”

The
thought of 'snipe-hunting' nearly jerked an involuntary giggle out of
me, and as I moved closer to the men, I could hear whispers. I stood
still and listened, as the men discussed our party. They had been
customers at the Public House the evening before and lived in the
area, and thought to assay theft.

“They
don't do this often, do they?” I thought. “If these people are
brigands, then I'm a rodent.”

They
drew steadily closer, and at a distance of perhaps thirty feet, I
noted a hazy aura surrounding them that spoke of heat emission. I
stood still, and slowly drew my sword. Its silence was swallowed up
in the stealthy tramp of the men's hobnailed boots, and when the men
were close – perhaps six feet, or maybe eight – I leaped abruptly
to land directly in front of them.

My
abrupt 'appearance' was so startling that one of them dropped his
musket onto the road, while the other screamed as if terrified. I
waved aside his musket with the flat of my sword and put its tip
close to his face.

He
screamed louder, and the other man joined in.

“No,
no screaming,” I said calmly. “What are the two of you doing
here?”

I
heard running feet coming from behind me amid the terror-stricken
screams of the two men, and I removed the musket from the one man and
laid it on the ground. He seemed to be in a state of waxen
paralysis, so much so that I lowered the tip of my sword and looked
at him in a state of unabashed curiosity. I then noticed the other
man had covered his musket by fainting and falling on top of it.

“Cease
with the screaming, sir,” I asked. “There are people
trying to sleep around here.”

From
behind me, I heard a distinct clicking noise, then a pair of them,
and finally, a sleep-suffused voice asking as to what was happening.

“These,
two, uh, people...” I spluttered quietly.

The
screamer abruptly fell silent, then yelled hoarsely the single word
“help!”

“Who
are they?” asked Sepp. I moved slightly to the side, as I did not
trust his pirate-special pistol.

“I
think these people assayed thievery of some kind,” I said. “They
do not look to be, uh, vendors.”

“What
are vendors?” asked Karl.

“Fresh
bread, cheese-spread, cherry jam, and jugged beer?” I said.
“Please, one of you, tie the person who is standing, and then do
likewise with his companion. I'll watch them while you do so.”

“Do
you have string?” asked Sepp.

I
reached for my possible bag, and removed a pair of coiled pieces of
rope, then handed it to Sepp. “Not too tight, now,” I said.
“I'm not entirely sure who these people are.”

“They
look to be thieves,” said Karl.

“Yes,
they do 'look' that way,” I said. “We also do not have proof.
Acting on suspicion can lead to later regrets.”

After
tying both men, Karl and Sepp collected up their muskets and I
sheathed my sword. Both men walked quietly ahead of the three of us,
and as we returned to the clearing, I plainly heard snoring.

“Did
you wake anyone else up?” I asked.

“I
tried,” said Sepp, “but those two gaffers sleep like rocks. I
had better luck with Karl once I spoke of thugs.”

“I
am not sure these people are thugs,” said Karl. “They smell like
farmers.”

“Uh,
how?” I asked.

“I
think one of them has damp underwear,” said Karl. “I've been
around enough thugs to know they hold their water when in trouble.”

As
if to reply, I heard a ripe-sounding 'gaseous emission'.

“Thugs
do not loose wind like that, either,” said Karl.

“That
is because thugs are corked with bad food,” said Sepp. “Now what
do we do with them once we get back?”

“Perhaps
tie them one to a buggy wheel?” I asked. “I'd just as soon
everyone get a good look at them before we do anything serious.”

After
securing the 'farmers' to one of the buggies, I fetched one of the
small candle-lanterns and found the two surprises. I handed one to
Karl, and the other to Sepp.

“Now
I'm set for those rats,” said Sepp.

“Rats?”
asked Karl.

“If
you ever do much exploring at the house, Karl,” said Sepp, “you
will want one of these. The other type isn't much good.”

“Leather?”
I asked. “A holster for each of you?”

“I
brought some of that stuff,” said Karl. “I think there is enough
for two of them.”

“You
think?” I asked.

“I
asked for two, and those people at the leather place cut them to
size,” said Karl.

“For
those, uh other pistols, or..?”

“For
ones like you have,” said Karl. “I asked them to cut the pieces
oversize, as talk has what you made is better for use.”

“The
top portion?” I asked. “The rear part with the rivets?”

“I
told them about that part,” said Karl. “Now do you have your
things?”

“I
do,” I said. “I wasn't certain about what I'd be doing of
leather, but I knew I would be doing leather work.” I paused, then
said, “I'll load and cap those before we go.”

“Good,”
said Sepp. “I don't trust that other pistol much.”

“What
did you have in it?” I asked, as I tried my little finger in the
muzzle of one of the muskets.

“A
half-charge of shot,” said Sepp. “Gilbertus said that was best
for close-work on trips like this.”

“H-half
charge?” I asked.

“Half
of the usual measure,” said Sepp. “I've had trouble getting
shot, so I was glad I only had to use half as much as I thought I
would need.”

“You
have some?” I asked.

Sepp
produced a small pouch, then put it away.

“The
other things?” I asked.

“We
have a pair of powder measures,” said Karl. “Neither of them is
that good.”

Karl
then looked at the other musket, and said, “that is a large musket,
and I think that other one is too.”

“Good,”
I said. “I've heard those work well for game.”

“Do
you have shot?” asked Sepp.

“I
had some when I left,” I said, “and I bought more yesterday. I'm
not sure what Hendrik has, but I suspect another smaller purchase of
shot and, uh, larger balls might be in order.” I paused briefly,
then said, “perhaps we can tidy up our mess while we wait for our
sleepers.”

I
assumed stockings and boots, then retrieved the 'dutch oven'. A
brief glance showed an even browning of its interior, and I dusted
off its blackened outer surface. After putting it away, I fetched a
shovel and began to fill the campfire pit. I could hear someone
lighting a student's lantern, then packing the tub up into the buggy.
I then cleaned up my bedding and put it away.

It
took but fifteen minutes for us to clean up those portions of camp
that were possible to perform without undue disturbance, and I then
retired to the 'other' tent to load both revolvers. I found that I
needed to answer a fair number of questions, few of which dealt with
the task at hand.

“Why
did you sleep under the buggy like that?” whispered Karl.

“I
had a dream about it,” I said, “that, and I suspect I brought
more bedding than you two did.”

“You
did,” said Sepp, “and I think I know why.”

“Why
I brought more bedding, or why I slept under the buggy?” I asked.

“I
was cold last night, and that in the tent with three others,” said
Sepp. “I might try sleeping under a buggy when it gets warmer.”

“What
was this?” said a groggy-sounding voice.

“Where
he slept,” said Sepp. “Are you up?”

Lukas
stirred, then reached for a cup and began drinking from it. He soon
spoke again, and this time, sounded awake.

“I
am,” he said. “Now, I can answer as to why he slept out that way
like he did.”

“Yes?”
I asked.

“I
was on watch after the two of them went to bed, and Gilbertus was
after me,” he said, “and I could hear someone talking and moving
softly. I wonder what it is, and I go a-looking, and I find you
under that one buggy.”

“What
was he doing?” asked Karl.

“I've
seen swine,” he said, “and shot guns, and cut on witches, but
what I heard him speaking was enough to scare me white for a year.”

“What
did I say?” I asked.

“It
was about witches,” said Lukas, “and I don't know nothing about
'em, if I go by what I heard.”

“Uh,
do I thrash?” I asked.

“No,
not much,” said Lukas, “but people what moves like you do when
you sleep need a fair amount of room, and they don't want crowding.”

He
then turned to Gilbertus, and pinched his toe, saying, “up, you
rascal. Shake a leg.”

I
cringed, then muttered, “uh, perhaps hot b-bread?”

“We
have plenty,” said Lukas. “Your pot came good last night, so we
can use it if at need.”

“Pot?”
asked Karl.

“Aye,
like those in the fourth kingdom,” said Lukas. “If we get fresh
meat, I might try making Cuew in it.”

“That
will be easy,” said Karl. “These two men came with large
muskets...”

“What?”
yelled Gilbertus. “Where?”

“Tied
to the buggy,” said Sepp. “They're most likely farmers, at least
mostly.”

“Mostly?”
asked Gilbertus.

“Who
yelled?” asked a plaintive voice from the other tent.

I
stood up, walked out of the doorway of one tent, and into the other
not three steps away. It was still dark, though I could perceive it
beginning to lighten, and when I came to the doorway, I was surprised
to see Kees up.

“What
t-time is it?” he asked

“Did
you fall asleep on watch?” I asked gently.

He
nodded, then said, “how are you up?”

“It
seems we had nocturnal, uh, visitors,” I said, “and I woke up in
time to greet them.”

“Visitors?”
asked Kees.

“I
suspect – no, that isn't true,” I said. “They were
intent upon thievery, though their notions of the matter were
ludicrous.”

“How,
if they be thieves?” asked Kees. I could tell the other two
occupants of the tent were beginning to awaken.

“These
people overheard us in the Public House, and thought of a possible
means of easy income,” I said, “so they came to investigate our
site and see what small items they could, uh, remove for their
own use.”

“What
did you do to them?” asked Gabriel's sleepy voice.

“Took
them back here and tied them to the buggy-wheels,” I said. “About
all I could think of was to, uh, let everyone look at them.” I
paused, then said, “Gabriel, fetch a cup of beer, and drink it
slowly. Kees, you too. Hendrik should awaken presently, and he'll
wish one.”

Kees
looked at me quizzically, even if he did as instructed.

“Perhaps
Hendrik will know what to do with those people,” I thought, as I
left the tent behind.

The
other tent had been struck and was being put away, and as I heard
movement in the tent I had left, I wondered about the two muskets.
For some reason, I wanted to retain those weapons, and as I looked
over one of them, Lukas came to my side.

“I
dumped the priming powder in both of those,” he said. “Now what
is it you plan to do with those thieves?”

“I'm
not sure, actually,” I said. “Until a minute or two ago, I
wasn't certain they were
thieves.”

“Loaded
muskets and dressed like that?” asked Lukas. “I've seen enough
thieves to know 'em, and those two are thieves.”

“Inexperienced
thieves,” I said. “Somehow, I doubt they've done this
type of thing before.” I paused, then looked down. Both men
appeared asleep, or were possibly unconscious.

“Perhaps...”
I paused in mid-sentence, then gasped as I recalled Georg's mention
of a magistrate. “If there is a decent one,” I thought.
“I do not want these people sent to one of those black-dressed
stinkers.”

“You
had an idea?” asked Lukas.

“I
might,” I said. “Still, Hendrik is handy, and I wonder as to his
thoughts.”

“Aye,
that's true,” said Lukas, “and I suspect you're right about these
men.”

I
heard steps to my left, and turned to see Gabriel.

“I
see,” he said. “Your precautions proved wise. I did not expect
to see thieves this far north.”

“That's
because we're on the High Way,” said Gilbertus. “Were we on the
Low Way, we would see droves of 'em.”

“Grain?”
I asked.

“I've
set that out,” said Gilbertus. “We might want more in a day or
two, at this rate.”

“Uh,
check Mercantiles and keep track of the grain prices?” I asked.
“Oh, there's this wire that's really shiny and is difficult to
melt...”

“Hans
mentioned that,” said Gabriel. “It's called glass-blower's wire,
and he could use more of it.”

“Oh,
I might use it also,” I said.

I
busied myself with the muskets for a moment, then heard movements to
the left. I turned to see Hendrik coming as the tent rapidly dropped.
Only Gabriel was next to me, for some reason.

“Who
are these people,” asked Hendrik, “as if I had to ask?”

“Thieves,”
said Gabriel. I marveled at his assurance for an instant until I
recalled speaking of them that way in the tent. “The usual?”

“The
u-usual?” I thought. “What does he mean..?”

My
thoughts then returned to what Hans had implied during my first days
on the premises, and his mention of summary justice – 'a rope, a
tree, and a prayer' with the outcome one or more dangling corpses –
seemed likely. I shuddered, yet still, for some strange reason, I
wished to know what 'the usual' was, and phrased my question as a
statement.

“Is
that cutting them to pieces, with their bodies left hanging in bags
to rot and their crime pinned to their bagged remains?”

The
instant I had spoken, however, I was horrified at the frightful evil
of such a proposition, and it was all I could not do to scream at the
top of my lungs “No! I don't want to be a witch!”

Hendrik
looked at me and fingered his beard. I wondered as to what he was
thinking, even as the ground went to bloody jumbled snow around me
and my hand grew the haft of a blood-caked ax.

“That
isn't commonly done,” he said. “The usual is to hang them out to
dry.”

He
paused for a moment, then said, “we have no ropes for that
business.”

Again,
he looked at me, then 'jolted' faintly. I wondered what had
happened.

“That
might be the best,” he said. “I've seen your handiwork on that
score.”

The
sense of terror I felt redoubled, and amid fumes of urine and dung I
prayed silently with closed eyes. I felt responsible, as if the
whole was my fault, and where that question had come was such that...

“That
was a question,” I thought, “as I've little knowledge of
thieves and how to deal with them. These people are amateurs...

The
odors of dung and urine redoubled, such that I marveled. Was I
the person leaking thusly, or was it someone else? The words of
speechless horror continued, and I listened in awed silence.

“And
rank amateurs at that,” I thought. “Smell them, if you do
not believe me.”

There
seemed to be a question posed to me, however, and I gave the only
answer I knew:

“A
magistrate, please. Send them for questioning to such a man or
woman, and retain their weapons for a time at the least. They will
not steal again.”

For
an instant, I wondered if I had been heard, and when Gabriel next
spoke, I was surprised.

“I
wondered why you spoke of those men like you did,” said Gabriel.
“Were they hardened thieves, I suspect you would not have gone to
this trouble, and had they assayed mayhem, they would not be here
tied up.”

Gabriel
paused, then said, “besides, hardened brigands would not foul
themselves upon hearing their ends discussed. Instead, they would
curse us like witches until they were ended, and think us stupid to
practice mercy.”

The
stink was now so intense I began retching, even as Gabriel nudged one
of the men with his boot.

“You
farm, don't you?” he demanded. “This is your first such
attempt.”

A
screamed affirmative came later, even as I staggered away. I could
almost hear the scrape-drag of a too-long sword grinding on a floor
amid the Lurch-Pang noise of the true-step. I heard steps behind me,
then a hand upon my shoulder. I turned, tears in my eyes, to see
Gabriel.

“Now
what?” he asked.

“Th-that
town back there,” I sobbed. “K-Kees fell asleep on guard. Let
him deliver those p-people to the m-magistrate there for
i-instruction, and b-bring my ropes b-back. I c-c-cannot g-get more
of them.”

“Instruction,”
mouthed Gabriel. “I see.”

I
was left to myself for a few minutes, and as I 'came to' to see a
lightening sky, I noted both men were missing, as was Kees. The
campsite was nearly cleaned up, and as I blinked away my tears, I
heard steps drawing closer. I turned to see Gabriel.

“D-did
I do the right thing?” I gasped.

“I
suspect you did,” he said quietly. “Still, in in times long
past, your question was the usual, and suspected thieves seldom saw
clemency of any kind.”